


The Permanence of Ink

by luxover



Series: All That Really Matters, In The End [2]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-11
Updated: 2012-01-11
Packaged: 2017-10-29 08:30:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/317828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luxover/pseuds/luxover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're watching a movie in their sweats, and Rafa isn't wearing a shirt; Rafa never wears a shirt, not if he doesn't have to, but Thiago's still never noticed the ink on his brother's skin before. He wonders how long it's been there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Permanence of Ink

**Author's Note:**

> Based off of [this](http://i1184.photobucket.com/albums/z336/luxover2/alc.jpg) and [this.](http://i1184.photobucket.com/albums/z336/luxover2/alc2.jpg)

Thiago doesn't know how long it's been there for or why it's taken him so long to notice, but he sees it one night when Rafa falls asleep in his bed. They're watching a movie in their sweats, and Rafa isn't wearing a shirt; Rafa never wears a shirt, not if he doesn't have to, but Thiago's still never noticed the ink on his brother's skin before. He wonders how long it's been there.

He leans forward to look at the tattoo, and it's based off a photograph of the two of them taken when they were younger, in bed together like they are now. He doesn't know what, but something about it makes his throat close up, his chest feel tight, and he wants to nudge Rafa awake, wants to ask, _Why did you get it?_ and _Why didn't you tell me?_ and _Why is it of that picture, of that one of us together?_ He doesn't, though, because he already knows all of the answers.

He looks at Rafa, looks at the smooth lines of his face and at the way his eyelashes look against his cheekbones. Everyone always says that people look different with their eyes closed, but Thiago doesn't really think that's true about Rafa; he'd know Rafa's face anywhere.

And maybe Rafa can feel Thiago's eyes on him, or maybe he feels something in the way that Thiago shifts on the bed, or maybe it's something else completely, Thiago doesn't know; either way, Rafa stretches his legs out as he wakes up, and says to Thiago, "Take a picture; it'll last longer." His voice is groggy and thick with sleep.

"Shut up," Thiago says, and then he figures he has nothing to lose, so he asks, "When did you get it done?"

Rafa knows exactly what he's talking about, right away, and his whole body tenses. Thiago can see it, knows that for some reason, Rafa is nervous, even though he doesn't need to be.

"A few weeks ago," Rafa says. "I was gonna tell you, but—"

"It's okay," Thiago says. It's not; he's never kept a secret like that from Rafa before.

"No, seriously," Rafa says. "I wanted to tell you, but I just— you're you, and I don't care what anybody else thinks, you know?"

"Well, I like it," Thiago says, both because he means it and because that's what he knows Rafa wants to hear.

"Good, because it's not going anywhere," Rafa says, and then he moves his arm so that Thiago can see the tattoo better.

Thiago reaches out and wraps his fingers around Rafa's bicep, uses his thumb to pull at the image on his skin, to stretch and distort his own face and Rafa's. There's something about the permanence that he likes; that they're both there, on Rafa's arm, forever—he doesn't know, he just likes it.

"I'm not going anywhere," Thiago says, and he immediately wants to take it back, because how stupid is that? He doesn't even know what he means by it.

"You might," Rafa says, and he looks Thiago right in the eyes. "One day."

"Where would I go?" he asks, because really, where would he go? Rafa's his best friend and Rafa's his brother; no one else is more important to him than Rafa is, and if Rafa ever asked him to stay anywhere, he would.

"You're the best player I know."

" _You're_ the best player _I_ know," Thiago says. Rafa rolls his eyes.

"Shut up," he says. "You've played for the first squad before."

"You're gonna be better than all of them," Thiago says. "And I'll be right there with you."

"Good," Rafa says, and maybe that was all he really needed to hear, because then he's closing his eyes again and settling back into the pillow, pulling the covers up over his chest.

"Hey," Thiago says, and he nudges Rafa. "Go back to your own bed."

"You go back to your own bed," Rafa shoots back, and it doesn't even make sense; Rafa smiles like he knows it doesn't.

"Fine," Thiago says, and he fixes the pillows, lies down next to Rafa. Their shoulders and hips touch. "Jona's gonna be so pissed," he says, and he doesn't even have to explain it. Rafa laughs.

"My next tattoo will be an entire back piece, then," he says, "of just his face."

"He'll like that," Thiago laughs.

"He better."

They don't talk after that, and Thiago closes his eyes, listens to the sound of Rafa's breath, in an out, in and out. It reminds him of how some people buy those tapes with sounds of the ocean, or of the rainforest, things to help them fall asleep.

Rafa turns onto his side, away from Thiago, and he takes most of the blankets with him. Thiago sits up and he's about to say something because that's so obnoxious of Rafa, only then he notices that Rafa is back asleep already. And he doesn't know why, because it doesn't make any sense, but for some reason, he leans forward and wraps his arm awkwardly around Rafa in a hug, and then he kisses Rafa on the cheek.

"I'm sleeping," Rafa says. "Quit trying to take advantage of me."

Thiago laughs then, a loud bark of laughter because Rafa— _Rafa_ —and he just says, "Quit hogging the blankets, then."

He tugs some of the covers free and lies back down, and then Rafa says, "I don't like to share."

Thiago gets that; he doesn't, either.

 


End file.
